Incubi - Edward Lee.wps (22 page)

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Jan Beck handed Jack a strip of multicolored paper the source spectrum from a mass photospectrometer. Under it Jan had written:

3-[-3-(p-hydrophenyl)-4-chloroxyiphone]-3'-disodium-edetate.

"That's the stuff," Jan said. "The chemical designation."

"And you found it in the bloodstreams of both girls?"

"Yep. Too bad it's meaningless."

It was 7 p.m. now; Jack and Faye stood in the TSD main lab, where they'd arranged to meet after Faye got out of the Library of Congress. Neither had mentioned Jack's drunken foray of the night before.

"Meaningless?" Jack countered. "It's our biggest lead. Once you identify it by name, we can nail down a geographic scheme. Whoever's making it or selling it can lead us to the killer."

"Killers," Jan Beck reminded. "And that's the problem. I don't know if I can identify it by name."

"You said it's not in the CDS and pharmaceutical indexes, right?" Jack asked. "That knocks out about ten thousand possibilities."

"So what? They're U.S. indexes. It could be a foreign pharmaceutical. It could be homemade."

These revelations did not enthuse Jack. He tried to sort his thoughts, smoking. "How much time, Jan?"

"Cold? Weeks."

"I don't have weeks."

Jan Beck laughed. "Captain, unless you can give me something to go on, I'll have to catalog every index one at a time."

"Here's something you might be able to use," Faye Rowland interrupted. "I found a bunch of stuff today about drug use among the aorist sects." She riffled through a sheaf of Xerox sheets. "They used lots of drugs during their rituals; one of them was an aphrodisiac called rootmash. They made it by distilling the pods of a plant called blackapple." She scanned her underscores.

"Taxodium lyrata is the botanical name. The book said it was a cantharadine, whatever that is."

"Cantharadine," Jan said to herself.

"Sounds like you've heard of it," Jack said.

"It rings a bell. Give me that." Jan took Faye's papers and began to walk away toward her index library.

"Where are you going?"

"You gave me something to go on, so now I'm going to go on it."

Jack got the message. "Let's get out of here," he said to Faye. "Jan likes to be left alone when she works."

Faye followed him up the stairs of the county HQ. He seemed remote, or distracted. Then he said,

"Sorry about last night."

"You won't last long, drinking like that," Faye replied.

"I'm gonna quit." Jack smiled at the excuse. "I know, that's what they all say. But I'm really going to do it."

Faye kept quiet.

As they were about to exit, an ancient sergeant at the main desk stopped them. "Hey, Captain, you got a call from City District."

"Thanks." Jack took the phone. "Cordesman."

"Jack, it's Randy."

"How you coming on the interviews?"

"It's like what you predicted. Rebecca Black had as many pickups as Shanna Barrington. And we struck out on the ex-husband. He was verifiably out of state during the murder."

"Just keep plugging."

"Sure, but that's not why I called. Some guy keeps calling your office, says he knows you. Sounds like a real prick."

Stewie, Jack guessed.

"I've got him on the line right now," Randy said. "How about taking it and getting the guy off my back."

"Switch me over," Jack said. The line transferred, hummed, and clicked. "What do you want, Stewie?"

"Jackie boy! How's it going?"

"Fine until you called. What do you want?"

"I need to rap with you, paisan."

"Well, I don't want to rap with you, Stewie. I've had a taxing day, and talking to you would only make it more taxing."

Stewie guffawed. "You never did like me, did you?"

"No, Stewie, I never did. And I still don't."

"I need to talk to you about Veronica."

The name seemed to give Jack an abrupt shove. "What about her?"

"I think she's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble? I'm listening."

"Better if we meet, you know, man-to-man."

But what could he mean? What kind of trouble could Veronica be in? "All right, Stewie. Man-toman."

"Or, hell, let's be honest. Libertine-to-drunk."

"How about assailant-to-assault-victim?"

"Aw, Jackie, that's so sad. Are you threatening a law-abiding citizen over a police line? Is that wise?"

"Where and when, Stewie?"

"How about the Undercroft? In your constant inebriation, it's probably the only place in town you can find without a map."

"I would really love to kick your ass, Stewie, and if this is a bunch of bullshit, I will."

"Come on, Jack. An alcoholic wreck like you? You couldn't even kick your own ass. Now, are we going to bicker like a pair of bête noires, or are we going to rap?"

"I'll be there in a half hour."

Jack hung up. He looked stolid, vexed.

"You'll be where in a half hour?" Faye asked him.

"I " Shit, he thought. "The bar."

"That's great, Jack. A minute ago you told me you were going to quit drinking. Now you're going to the bar. Great."

"I'm not going there to drink, Faye."

"Of course not. You're going there to play racquetball. Why else do people go to bars?"

"It's something personal. I gotta talk to someone, that's all. You can come too, if you don't believe me."

"I have better things to do than sit in bars, Jack." She turned, was walking away. "I have a bunch of material to go over for your murder case, remember? Have fun at the bar."

He trotted after her into the parking lot. "Why are you always pissed off at me? I won't get drunk, I promise."

"Don't promise me, Jack. What do I matter?"

"You...you matter a lot."

"Don't promise me. Promise yourself." Faye slammed her car door shut, then drove off.

Jack watched her big Malibu turn out of the lot. Boy, I could use a drink, he thought, and got into his own car. That was the unique thing about the power of promises. They always dared to be broken.

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"All right, Stewie. I'm here."

It was not easy for Jack to pull up a stool next to Stewart K. Arlinger. It demanded a placation he didn't feel capable of. Stewie wore a slate-blue Smiths T-shirt that read "You handsome devil."

He'd recently stylized his black, banged hair with a streak of silver, and most of his white jeans evaded visibility for the cuffed black boots which rose up past mid-thigh. A yellow clove cigarette burned in one hand. Before him stood a tall glass of gin.

"Good to see you, Jack," he said through a snide smile.

Jack sat down. Craig spun a bottle of Seagram's over his shoulder and caught it behind his back.

"The usual, Jack?"

"No. Soda water. Put a piece of lime in it to make it look like I'm drinking something."

"Soda water. Hmm," Craig remarked. His brow arched, as did the brows of several patrons. I will not break my promise, Jack thought.

"Graduating to the hard stuff, huh?" Stewie commented.

"Believe me, Stewie. It's very difficult for me to be in the same room with you and be sober at the same time."

"Let's just get to business before we get into a fight."

"Fine," Jack said. "I don't have time to drive you to the emergency room. I'd miss Wheel of Fortune reruns."

"You know, Jack, I like you, even in spite of your rampant aggression and alcoholic ill-will. But let me ask you something. Why exactly do you hate my guts?"

"Plenty of reasons," Jack was quick to respond. "You're selfish, greedy, pompous, you make a living off my ex-girlfriend's work, and you wear boots that come up to your fuckin' crotch."

"All of the above are true, Jack, but let's try real hard to be adults for a minute a trying task, in your case. I'm really worried about Veronica."

"You said she might be in trouble. How so?"

"I'm not sure. She's never been one to shirk her professional responsibilities. Shows, galleries, interviews all that kind of stuff's very important to her, the business end of her art. That's why she has me to manage her career."

"Get to the point."

"I haven't heard from her all week."

Jack set his drink down and thought about that. Stewie was right. Veronica would never remain out of touch with her manager for so long a time. There had to be a reason.

"That's why I'm worried. She's close to the big time, which is great because she deserves it. But it's real easy for an artist to fuck up. All you have to do is snub a few important people, and that can mean the end of a career. She's got a lot of things in the fire right now. Art Times wants to interview her. Two major publishers want to do books of her work. I got galleries all over the country who want to put her up. Yesterday the fucking Corcoran calls, they want to do a show too. I don't know what to tell any of these people. Some of them are important people, Jack. All week long I've been telling them I'll get back to them once Veronica has contacted me. I can't jerk them off forever. When the fucking Corcoran Gallery calls, you don't say, "I'll get back to ya, bub.'"

This didn't sound right, none of it did.

"I've got to get ahold of her, Jack. I've got to know what she's got ready to go. If I can't get back to these galleries with some kind of commitment soon, they'll write her off. That would be really bad for her future. You got to help me out here, Jackie. My bread and butter's on the line, and so is hers."

"What can I do?" Jack queried.

"Tell me about this thing she went on with Ginny. She hates my guts too, by the way."

"I don't know anything about it," Jack said. "She said it was a creative retreat of some sort, said she wanted to ‘find' herself. And she said some rich guy was putting her up."

"Khoronos," Stewie said.

"Yeah. Khoronos. If you ask me, the whole thing sounds pretty fucked up."

"We finally agree on something. Do you know where Khoronos lives?"

"She wouldn't tell me. I think she was afraid I'd hound her or something. She hit me with all this the night we broke up."

Stewie stirred his gin with his finger. He'd grown his pinky nail long and painted it white. "I met him once," he said.

Khoronos, Jack thought. Already the rats were coming home to feast, jealousies and the blackest thoughts, all to remind him of what he had lost. "What's he like?" he asked.

"Pompous but refined," Stewie answered. "Something awesome about the way he carries himself and the way he talked. The word ‘scintillating' comes to mind."

Awesome, Jack thought. Scintillating. Excuse me while I puke.

"And real good-looking," Stewie was kind enough to continue. He ordered another Sapphire from Craig. "Sharp dresser, tall, well proportioned. Fantastic body."

Jack frowned.

"Human beauty's a wondrous thing, whether you're a man or a woman. Too bad you can't relate to that, Jackie."

"Yeah, too bad," Jack muttered. "Go on."

"What I'm saying is this guy Khoronos is a real hot number. Veronica fell for him the instant she met him."

Each word of Stewie's revelation made Jack sink further. He remembered what Craig had said.

No matter how much you love a girl, there was always someone around the next corner waiting to ruin it all. There was always a Khoronos. "What else do you know about him?"

"He bought one of Vern's paintings. The guy was carrying twenty-five large in cash. Tell me that's not weird. He sent a couple of guys around the next morning to pick up the picture."

"Delivery men? Big deal."

"These guys weren't delivery men. They almost acted like servants. Heartbreakers, Jackie.

Musclemen with class."

Now Jack's head spun with the most terrible images. "Creative retreat, my ass," he mumbled under his breath.

"I know what you're thinking. We both know there's a side to Veronica that's very susceptible to outside influences. In a lot of ways, she's very vulnerable."

"What are you saying?"

Stewie put a good dent in his Sapphire. "Come, Jackie. Guys like that, rich, sexy, art enthusiasts... Veronica will be putty in their hands, and you know it."

"Ginny'll keep an eye on her," Jack lamely suggested.

Stewie threw his head back and laughed, a bit too loudly. "Ginny protecting Veronica is like a vampire in a fucking blood bank. Wake up, Jackie. She's a feminist existentialist, for Christ's sake. Read her books. They're all about women breaking free of relationships, sexual independence, doing whatever they feel like to find actualization."

Jack didn't know what actualization meant, but it didn't sound good.

Stewie ordered yet another gin. "I've always believed that love between two people is a holy thing. Two people together are stronger than when they're on their own. There're a lot of bad folks in the world, Jackie. Users, liars, con men, and every other kind of motherfucker who'll take advantage of vulnerable people for their own kicks. But love protects us from people like that."

"You're the last person I'd expect to hear that from."

"We all have our fronts, Jackie. You do, I do. You think my only interest in Veronica is financial."

"As a matter of fact, Stewie, I do. Veronica's your only important client. Without her, you'd be washed up."

"That's true. But she's also my friend, and I care about her."

This was very bizarre. Stewie was showing a side of himself Jack didn't think existed. Could it be possible that Stewie was something more than a self-centered art pimp? Beneath the new-wave clothes and hairdo, and the decadent pretenses, was there really a decent human being?

"You still care about her too, Jackie."

Jack stared at him. Yeah, I do, he thought. And I can't do shit about it, can I?

"All I mean is that Veronica could be in a bad situation, and goddamn Ginny isn't going to be any help at all. Veronica's not a decisive person, and as far as this retreat thing goes, Ginny'll be right there to help her make all the wrong decisions."